Thirty Nine: Echoes

"Are you trying, boy, or are you doing this to piss me off?"

Jordan scowled up at Yddris from his vantage point on the floor. Outside the storm howled on, and cold air drifted through the gaps in the floorboards. It had returned with a viciousness that Jordan was certain would have stymied even Hap's best efforts at hard training, so he and Yddris were practising on the small veranda that backed out onto Thirris's garden. Fortunately the rain was driving almost horizontally away from them, so they'd mostly stayed dry, though it was hard to hear each other over the winds that ripped through the treetops. Needless to say that up until that session, it had been another few days passed behind Thirris's firmly closed doors.

The old Unspoken ambled out to join them as Jordan struggled to his feet, bearing a tray with three steaming cups on it. "Don't be too hard on him, Yddris. He's been ill, remember?"

Jordan glowered defiantly at his tutor as he took his tea with muttered thanks, but Yddris seemed utterly unfazed. "He's behind. Very behind. Not his fault, but that's no reason not to make the most of the time here."

Jordan's scowl deepened. He had suspected he was behind, but it was one thing suspecting it and another being told by the man who taught him.

"That may be, but I don't see why you had to start with physical training." Thirris settled on the small, rickety bench near the back door, and Jordan's neck warmed to think he was going to have an audience. His poor performance was embarrassing enough when it was just him and Yddris.

"You're starting to sound like Nika," Yddris growled. "Night take me, no one trusts my fucking judgement anymore."

They finished their tea in a silence that reined despite the chaos of the forest outside. Before long, Jordan had Yddris's fists flying at him again, and he was blocking just in time if he managed it at all. He never managed to drive an attack of his own.

It wasn't because he hadn't had much physical training – god knew he'd had plenty – but he hadn't gone unarmed against Yddris since signing with the Devils. They'd sparred in the attic, and run through endless exercises to improve Jordan's self-control over his magic's response to emotions, and done patrol routes so long they turned his legs to jelly, but unarmed had been Usk's domain. Every time Yddris's fist or foot came at him from the semi-darkness he saw only Usk's leering grin in Arlen's rooms, felt the grind of broken glass under his heel and smelled the stale sweat and grime of the man who lived there. Usk's approach had been to harry him until he was forced to fight back just as viciously. Yddris's approach clearly required a control that Jordan wasn't sure he had. His first instinct was to block, fear running through his veins like ice, expecting something heavy to collide with his skull at any moment.

"You've not tried to hit me once," Yddris said. Jordan glanced up from his half-cowering stance to find his tutor simply standing there, watching him with his head cocked. "You at least tried when we were first starting out. What's going on, boy?"

"Rusty," Jordan muttered, straightening out and bracing himself. "Come on, I can try harder."

Yddris shook his head. "I don't think you're ready for this today."

Jordan was suddenly angry. "I said I'm just rusty. One more time."

Clearly still doubtful, Yddris sank back into a starting pose. This time, Jordan told himself, he was going to be on the offence from the start. He was not going to direct the punches that were thrown where it hurt least, not going to end up on the floor to have his fingers trodden on, not going to have his head bashed against the wall....

The air left his lungs as he hit the veranda floor with a thud. He blinked, the haze clearing from his thoughts like sun breaking through clouds. Yddris was leaning over him, his knee grinding painfully into one of Jordan's thighs and his hands pinning Jordan's wrists to the decking. Something spattered on the floor beside Jordan's head. He turned to look, and was alarmed to find it was blood. Past Yddris's shoulder, Thirris was on his feet.

"You're not seeing me, are you, boy?" Yddris murmured. "When you fight? You're not seeing me at all."

-

Jordan lay back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Though Yddris had explained what had happened, and though he half-remembered flashes of it like he might a memory from years ago, he wasn't convinced he'd really managed to give his tutor a nosebleed. Not Yddris. Blind panic, and even blinder luck, he guessed. He'd been so angry in the moment that he didn't even recall deciding to start – only that one moment Usk had filled his mind's eye, sharp teeth glinting as his meaty fist flew towards Jordan's sternum, and the next moment Jordan was on the floor, his knuckles aching and two Unspoken staring at him like he was mad.

Maybe he was mad.

He didn't look round at the sound of footsteps outside his door. For a moment Yddris was still and silent, then he sighed and planted himself at Jordan's small desk. The wind whistled into the silence that expanded between them.

"Usk?" Yddris murmured. "He's the problem?"

"How did you..."

"Arlen wouldn't trust that training to anyone else if he couldn't do it himself. Even if a notoriously violent and volatile ex-Varthian warrior is a terrible choice for the job."

Jordan just pinched his lips together. What almost made it all worse was that, for the rest of the time, Usk was friendly in his own rough way. Neither he nor Arlen seemed to see anything wrong with the approach, and so Jordan had taken it without complaint and forced it from his thoughts the rest of the time. He blamed the Guildtown and his illness for causing him to slacken his vigilance. He never got very far when he allowed those thoughts to preoccupy him.

"I didn't break it, did I?" he asked.

Yddris chuckled. "No, boy. You only got the hit at all because you took me by surprise."

Embarrassed as he was, Jordan flushed with irritation. Yddris could have allowed him to think he'd got a hit in for once.

"Your stamina has improved a lot," Yddris continued. "And you're getting faster. You just need to use those things to fight back as well as dodge, and not from sheer terror. Preoccupation with fear makes you clumsy, interferes with your ability to strategise." He paused. "Though I'll give you that that punch had a lot more force in it than I expected. Your form was terrible, but that can be sorted."

It was a cold comfort. He had come to the Guildtown to get away from the Devils, not find himself fighting them when they weren't even there.

He spent the rest of the day studying runes, and this time he couldn't find the will to fight his tutor on it even if he felt like spending the hours in bed. His thoughts were fuzzy and unfocused, and it was only when he found he had stared at the same page for minutes on end and made no progress that he gave up on that as well. His pencil fell from his tired fingers with a clatter, and he closed the journal on the shaky rune copies he had made – his knuckles were sore and swollen from the fight.

Sometime over the course of the day the rain and wind had eased once more. As he stepped out into the hall, stretching the cramp out of his shoulders, Thirris emerged from the sitting room. In his hands he held a sad-looking herb plant. His cloak was covered in loose soil.

"Yddris has gone out on patrol with Henrik," he said. Jordan nodded. At least it meant he wouldn't be set another task. "Are you alright, boy? He can take a few more knocks and surprises than that, if that's what's getting you down."

Jordan shrugged. "Sometimes alright feels like a very long way away."

Thirris looked at him for a long moment, a measuring gaze that made Jordan fidget. Then he disappeared back inside the room and reappeared without his plant. "We're going to Yerrit's. Bring your journals with you, and we'll pick Astra up on the way."

There was neither command nor question in his tone, but Jordan found himself obeying. He gathered his journals into a small leather carry-bag that Nika had lent him for the trip and slung it over his shoulder, picking up Ren en-route to the front door. The air outside was fresh and sharp with the scents of the forest, and the sky was lighter than Jordan had seen it for months, even though it must have been afternoon by then. He could see the trees around him without his magic-assisted sight, even if they grew indistinct beyond those in the immediate surroundings. Instead of the well-trodden route that Yddris used to get to the Guildtown centre, Thirris struck off on a narrower trail that led deeper into the trees. Jordan experienced a flash of apprehension as he recalled the Forest Haunt he had seen several days before.

"Is the net fixed?" he asked, picking his way through thick brushes of ferns. "From the other day?"

"Aye," Thirris called back. "The warders got straight on it. It's worrying, though. There'll be a full meeting about it when we've cleared up after this storm. I believe Yddris has arranged for you to spend a day with Hap sometime soon, so you can identify a broken net when you see it."

"Oh, right." It seemed like his schedule was filling up very quickly, without much input from him.

"When you've recovered properly, you'll go outside the net range for practice," Thirris continued. "Then, of course, there'll be Koen's ceremony to arrange. It's the busiest it's been in months. Very welcome, mind you. I was starting to talk to the wall displays, I've been so bored." The old Unspoken stopped in front of a small wooden hut that reminded Jordan of a toadstool, with its small domed roof and rough-plastered walls. The area around the hut had been cleared of underbrush, and in its place was a small garden, though little of it was visible aside from a few pale shoots poking through the disturbed soil. "Old age is cruel, boy. It may seem hard now, but you'll miss it all when you're as old as I am."

The Unspoken reached up, but before he knocked on the small door it opened and revealed Astra standing there, a bag over her shoulder as if she'd been expecting them.

"Well met, Thorne," she said. Her tone was completely neutral, but Jordan still sagged with relief. She hadn't ever spoken his name casually before, normally making it sound like a formal address. It occurred to him that her voice was very pleasant, when she wasn't putting herself at a cold distance.

"I'll leave you two to it," Thirris said. "Have a good time. I have some herbs to save."

Astra stepped down from the doorway, rain immediately beading on her hood, as Thirris hurried back the other way.

"I think they might be beyond saving," Jordan mumbled, but then remembered he wasn't with Koen. He glanced at Astra, who appeared to be watching him with equal wariness. "I, um...don't know the way, I'm afraid."

She nodded and walked past him, checking back once to make sure he followed. Before long they were back on the main trail into the town, where the path was wide enough to allow them to walk alongside one another. Jordan still hung back, close enough for her to speak if she wanted to, but not assuming that proximity was welcome. She made no move to either talk or close the gap between them, but he didn't sense any hostility. It confused him, that for an Unspoken who apparently read the current at a much more sensitive level than he did, she had such a flat aura. It felt to him like standing on a sand dune might feel like; there was a constant, stable warmth in the centre, the movement of it surface-level and minimal. It didn't reach out to him or to anything else like those of other Unspoken; it was perfectly contained and controlled.

She led him off the path just before they reached the main clearing, down another branch of the winding trails. Through the trees Jordan could just make out the backs of the line of supply stores. Before they reached the end of those, the ground began to slope upwards, the flat trail giving way to a staggered set of shallow steps set into the earth. They were well worn and many were littered with pools of water. He could not see where they ended, but was rapidly aware that the forest was not all following the incline; on one side it sloped back down towards the Guildtown, and the higher they climbed the steeper that slope became. After a while he stopped looking and instead focused on keeping Astra in sight. The Unspoken girl had a deal more stamina training on him, and was still gracefully bounding up the steps when Jordan's breath started coming laboured.

When he was resigned to climbing forever onwards, the ground levelled out. Behind them, the rocky valley wall fell away into gloom. Ahead... Jordan's breath caught, and he forgot his exhaustion for a moment.

The steps had led them up onto a small plateau. The forest continued to recede from them, carpeting the base of distant mountains, though this was the closest yet that Jordan had been to them. At this distance their vastness was much easier to appreciate, their peaks disappearing among the low cloud cover. In the middle of the plateau was a small forest pool, barely deep enough to sit down in, and beside it were two poles driven into the ground to hold a washing line, and also an old chair collapsing from damp and a tin pail. There were two shorter poles as well, though Jordan couldn't guess what they were for.

He didn't see the dwelling until Astra knocked on the door. On one side of the plateau, another steep rock face led even higher, so that Jordan wondered if the Guildtown hadn't been built into some ancient quarry. The door that opened to the knock was set into the stone itself, the doorway chiselled out of the rock like a cave. Warm green light lit the entranceway, and an Unspoken, bent with age, shuffled out to greet them.

"The rain's not stopped yet," the Unspoken said by way of greeting. "But we'll set something up. Come inside, come in."

Jordan followed Astra into the low tunnel. Yerrit lived in a warren burrowed through the rock face, lit only by magic. It was surprisingly warm inside, and despite being surrounded by several feet of windowless rock, Jordan didn't feel claustrophobic. Yerrit led them into a small room that was clearly used as a kitchen. "I have a nice flower tea that Cara sent up for me up in that cupboard there. One of you can make us some tea and the other one can come and help me set this covering up."

Astra decided it for them. Before Jordan had even opened his mouth to ask what she'd rather do, she had fetched the tea down from the cupboard and picked up the kettle to refill it. Jordan, wishing he'd thought to do that, followed Yerrit down yet another tunnel.

"You're the artist I've heard so much about, then?" Yerrit said. As they walked, unlit wall lamps blazed with green light. The room they entered was even smaller than the last. There was just enough room for two people to stand in the centre surrounded by the shelves that occupied every wall space. Jordan caught his breath. It was an art supply store that made his collection of inks and pencils look meagre. Pots and boxes of pigment lined one side of the room; on the other, a rack of brushes in every size. Leaning against every wall were boards, blocks of wood and canvases. Jars of mediums lined an upper shelf, and a set of crudely made drawers housed nibs, pens, inks and pencils.

"Wow," he said, feeling like he was sorely understating the point.

"I'll take that as a yes," Yerrit said, chuckling. It took Jordan a moment to remember that he'd been asked a question, and he flushed. "It is very refreshing to meet someone with similar interests. Now, the light in here is an absolute curse when choosing colours, so let me just..." he reached up and took a half-burned candle down from the shelf, "light this so we can see them better. Otherwise, as you can imagine, I usually end up with a wildly different palette to what I'd had planned."

They left the store-room what felt like an age later. Yerrit carried a large basket full of supplies, and Jordan carried a large oiled canvas sheet, several lengths of strong cord, and three wooden boards. After the battering he'd taken that morning the load was a taxing carry, but he was suddenly more excited than he had been in days. He hadn't been near any kind of paint in months, and he was quickly realising the extent of the loss he had felt as a result. His fingers itched to hold a paintbrush again.

They set up the canvas sheet as a shelter facing the view, revealing the use of the two shorter poles as the back support of the tent. Despite his age, Yerrit moved faster than Jordan in tying it down, until he was relegated to holding the canvas still while the other Unspoken did the rest. He blamed his aching knuckles.

Yerrit disappeared back inside muttering about easels, while Jordan stood under the shelter and stared at the mountains. He had never made paint in this fashion before, but he was willing to try – he would try anything to work with colour again. The light in Nictaven was not spectacular at this time of year, but the early evening sky was shot through with pale pinkish-purple, underscored by the winking green of the mountains below it. It was just light enough to appreciate the variation in the tones of the forest. He could give a good go at wringing a nice composition out of it, and if he couldn't, he had all his favourite sketches with him for reference.

He was sketching out how he'd frame it in his head when Astra arrived with the tea. She set the tray down on the overturned bucket and helped Yerrit drag three paint-spattered easels into the shelter.

Until Jordan had arrived in Nictaven he had been sceptical about the existence of souls – and he was only forced into believing them when he realised there were demons that ate them. That evening dashed the remainder of any doubt he'd had left. He was nothing but vision and the movement of the brush. His aches and worries faded so far into the background he barely noticed them. He was out of practice, and he found mixing paint out of pigment, egg and water very strange, but it was exhilarating to stand in front of a canvas again. It was better than he remembered it from home. He blocked out the values and the lighting, and then felt his spirit soar as he added bright spots of colour. He forgot about his tea entirely, forgot Astra and Yerrit were even there until he became gradually aware that they were not painting beside him, but rather watching him paint while standing at either shoulder.

He paused, letting the brush fall from the canvas. It wasn't finished, but he would need better light to do so. At some point even the little that there had been had faded into twilight darkness.

"Well," Yerrit said. "He wasn't exaggerating, that Koen lad."

Astra drew closer to the picture. "It's beautiful."

Jordan's self-conscious flush turned into a burn. This strange girl, in a few days going from ignoring him to complimenting his artwork – he wasn't sure whether to laugh or run away.

"You've got to finish it, of course," Yerrit continued. "Same time tomorrow, I think."

Jordan couldn't think of anything he wanted to do more. He ran his eyes over his work, wishing the light hadn't faded so quickly. He looked around to say so, but realised Yerrit was no longer there.

"He doesn't do greetings or goodbyes," Astra said softly. "Never has. He'll come out and clear it all later, when it's dried some." She inclined her head. "Shall we go?"

Jordan looked longingly at the paints and brushes again, but allowed himself to be led away. This time, Astra did close the gap between them.

"I requested apple cake at the refectory yesterday," she said softly, almost shyly. "It's very good here. You should come and try some."

Jordan felt both clumsy and stupid as he blurted, "Together?"

"Aye." She said it as though it was a foregone conclusion. "I would very much like to see your other drawings." He had a feeling she smiled at him then, possibly for the first time ever. "You create with your whole soul, Thorne. And I find that very beautiful." She turned away. "Very, very beautiful."